


Something Like a Fresh Start

by lesbianophelia



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/M, Universe Alteration, post-THG, pre-CF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 22:02:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2204640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianophelia/pseuds/lesbianophelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss is working on her talent when she gets a visitor she didn’t expect. Set between The Hunger Games and Catching Fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Like a Fresh Start

When the knock on the door comes, it’s late. I’m not sleeping, of course. I spend my nights holed up in one of my new house’s many bonus rooms to work on my talent, and my days getting the minimum amount of — fitful — sleep that I’ll need while Prim is at school, so that I can do it again the next day.   
  
It’s better than waking them all with my nightmares. Whoever my visitor is, they don’t seem to want to wake the others, either. There’s a second knock, but it’s so quiet that I might actually have missed it if my senses weren’t still working overtime from being in the arena. I sneak out of the room and down the stairs, my mind racing.   
  


 _It’s probably Haymitch_ , I tell myself, because there’s also an ever-present fear, lately, that some Capitol official will come for me. It must be Haymitch. He must be wondering if I have a bottle of alcohol laying around here somewhere, so that he can make it through until he goes to the Hob in the morning for more. That’s it, I decide. It’s nothing to worry about.   
  
I certainly am not expecting Peeta to be the one I see through the eyehole. Leaning on a cane that’s similar to the one he was using when I last saw him — weeks ago, I realize — but not the same one. I open the door, and he gives me a shy little smile. “Hey,” he says. “I was … I was taking a walk — physical therapy. For the leg, you know — and I saw the lights on, and I figured you were up. Or, at least, I didn’t think it was Prim.”   
  
“No. She’s sleeping,” I say, my voice almost curt, it’s so formal.   
  
“Lucky her,” he says. He’s having trouble sleeping then, too. I’m glad I’m not the only one.   
  
“You were taking a walk at midnight?” I ask.   
  
“Can we talk?” he asks. He glances over my shoulder, but I’m just petty enough to not want to let him in, so I step forward and join him on the porch, closing the door behind me. I regret the lack of the air conditioning as soon as I do.   
  
“What do you want to talk about?”   
  
“I, um … The way I acted on the train, mostly. I mean, when we were coming home. I shouldn’t have avoided you, and I’m sorry that I did.”   
  
“You-” I begin, not sure what I’m going to say. I’m actually a little relieved for the hand he raises to stop me.   
  
“I kinda worked this whole speech out ahead of time,” he admits, a little smile playing on his lips. I’m not sure what emotion it is that grips me when I see it, just that I’ve  _missed_ him. “I knew there was something going on with you and Gale. I was jealous of him before I even officially met you. And it isn’t fair of me to hold you to things you said in the games. And I’m sorry.” 

  
“So am I,” I say, even though I’m not sure what I’m sorry for.   
  
“No. You have nothing to apologize over. You’re not the one that’s been throwing a temper tantrum. I just figured we might have a shot at being friends if I stopped acting so, you know, wounded.”   
  
My hair is starting to stick to the back of my neck with the humidity. I turn towards the door and hear Peeta give a tiny little sigh.   
  
“Yeah. So, I mean, obviously I’ve had plenty of time to think about all of this. And if you need to take some time of your own, that’s fine. I’m just -”   
  
I shake my head. “Do you want to come in? It’s too hot in here.”   
  
Peeta  _laughs,_ his relief evident, and I realize that he thought I was leaving him out here. “Yes. I would love to come in.” 

  
“I’ve been working on my talent,” I say. “But be quiet coming up the stairs, okay? They don’t know I’m up.”   
  
He nods solemnly. I’m partway up the stairs when I hear the lock click behind him.

 _Good,_ I think.  _I’m not the only paranoid one._

  
He’s relatively quiet, but his footsteps are loud, and the cane bumps noisily against the steps. Of course, it does. I feel guilty for asking him to be quiet. Thankfully, no one comes out to check. I usher him into the room and shut the door behind us.   
  
“Fashion?” he asks, staring at the dress form. “Katniss. Your talent is fashion?” 

I scowl at him. “It’s not like I’m any good at the other stuff.”   
  
“Other stuff?”   
  
“I can’t play the flute. Or do flower arrangements. And it doesn’t help that Prim is great at everything.” I’m starting to get angry. I didn’t bring him up here so he could make fun of me.   
  
“I just never would have thought that you’d go for fashion, is all,” he says, sounding at least a little bit sheepish. “Well, maybe Cinna will help you with it. He certainly likes you enough.”   
  
I sort of smile. Cinna had suggested something similar when I called him to thank him for the box of clothing that he sent to my house in the Victor’s Village. “But I’m starting to think there’s a

to them making us do this. I mean, I need

to keep myself occupied, right? What are you doing?”   
  
“Painting,” he answers without a second of hesitation. I watch him cross the room and take the edge of the fabric between his fingers, sort of smiling. “This is my favorite color, you know.”   
  
“The orange?” I ask.   
  
He nods. “Only when it’s soft like this. Like the sunset.”   
  
“Oh,” I say. “Well, you can have the fabric, if you want it. I’m never going to make anything decent out of it.”   
  
“You can’t be so hard on yourself,” he says. “This looks like it’ll be a great poncho once you sew it up.”   
  
I’m irrationally upset. Not at Peeta, exactly, just at the fact that I can’t be  _good_ at anything the Capitol will deem worthwhile. I roll my eyes, because it’s easier to act irritated. “It’s a dress.” 

  
He looks at it for a moment, eyebrows furrowed. “Right. Yeah. Okay.”  
  
I sink down to sit on the floor, and he looks genuinely apologetic when he comes to sit beside me.   
  
“I’m sorry,” he offers. “You’ll find something. Promise.”   
  
Well, at least he meant it about wanting to be friends.   
  
“Hey, I don’t know your favorite color,” Peeta points out. “I mean, I know that you would risk your life to save mine, but when it comes to the deep stuff …”   
  
“The deep stuff?” I ask. “It’s green. My favorite color is green.”   
  
He nods, maybe imagining the color. His hand slips into mine, and when our fingers tangle together, it feels so good to be touching him again not in show but in actual friendship, that I know I will not be the first to let go. 


End file.
